


Everlocked

by Jakaboi



Series: A Poisoned Chalice [2]
Category: Escape the Night (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, corrupted!Mat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakaboi/pseuds/Jakaboi
Summary: A brand new game has begun, but everything has changed. New players, new rules, new end goal. On top of that, Mat has had a year to prepare. How can they possibly hope to survive?
Series: A Poisoned Chalice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939222
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SamWithACrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamWithACrown/gifts).



> I have been working on this since before I finished A Poisoned Chalice.  
> It's going to be a fair bit different, as you might notice in this chapter, but I have some interesting plans in place.  
> I hope you enjoy it.

The door to the Divine Lounge is thrown wide and Nathan Sharp, The Record Producer, rushes in, fingers clutched around a foul smelling coin, the sleeve of his bottle green jumpsuit pushed to the elbow.

“We got the coin!” he yells.

Not far behind Nate follows Thomas Sanders, The Investigative Journalist, his coat long abandoned, rubbing the back of his head in confusion.

“How is that smell not killing you?” he asks.

Nate shrugs. The look on his face shows that he too can smell the sewer drain muck he’d had to plunge his hand into. “Adrenaline mostly.”

Sean ‘Jack’ McLoughlin, The Detective complete with bright yellow jacket, plaid pants, and yellow glasses, leaps to his feet from the couch in excitement, “Quick! Get the box.”

“Already got it.” Mark Fischbach, The Daredevil, jacket tassels flying as he rushes across the room, carries the Lazarus box from where its been waiting. It’s honestly kind of exciting; who knows what’s inside. The coins weren’t easy to get though so it better be worth it.

Joey, the Savant, exactly as you remember him, steps forward, his eyes sparkling. Finally. He runs his fingers over the top, fingertips catching on each groove and nook of the lid. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the coin he’d already won.

“Coin.” Mark calls to Nate who flicks it over.

They don’t bother with waiting, they’ve gone through too much to get here to bother with idle chatter. Down go the coins and open pops the box, Joey all but snatches the harp out while Mark pulls out a small card.

“What’s it say?” Nate stands on the other side of the room, wiping the goop off his arm with a random throw.

“ _The Harp of Lazarus only has one song left to play before its magic is gone. Its music has the power to bring one of your friends back from the de_ -”

Joey screams and the harp falls to the ground with a muted thud. Everyone shouts, leaping back at the small bolt sticking out the Savant’s back.

“Get it out!” he screams. His voice is cracked, sounding weirdly deeper than it had before. Arm straining, body shaking; something’s wrong.

Everyone turns to see Nikita Dragun stood in the far doorway wearing a low-cut navy blue and white top with a similarly colored miniskirt. A katana sticks out over her shoulder but no one really notices, a little more focused on the handheld crossbow that’s pointed squarely at Joey.

“You shot him!” Thomas screams.

“I’m saving you bitches’ lives.” she fixes them all with a fierce glare as she loads up another short bolt. “You’re _welcome_.”

“GET IT OUT!” Joey screams again. Mark braces against him and tears it out. Joey drops to his knees, whole body shaking uncontrollably.

“It won’t help.” Nikita smirks, cocking her hip, “Hemlock’s a bitch like that.”

“W _hat_?!” Mark shrieks as he tosses the bolt away in panic. He doesn’t know a lot about it, but he knows enough to know he doesn’t want to be touching that.

“Guys,” Nate calls but no one seems to hear.

“You _shot_ him!” Thomas shouts.

“I did what I had to.”

“Guys!” Nate shouts again.

“You _poisoned_ him?” Jack frowns. The detective’s badge hanging from his belt must have given him an extra shot of courage as he shuffles closer to Joey.

“If you had any idea what this monster,” Nikita all but spits at Joey’s back, “is trying to do, you would be praising me.”

“You shot-!”

“GUYS!” The bellow cuts them all off and everyone turns. Nate’s face is a picture of wide-eyed terror as he points at the still crouched, still shaking Joey.

Perfectly coiffed platinum blond hair is slowly turning dark brown, blue-green eyes are burning bright green from corner to corner. Even his clothes are changing, becoming charred and ashy, growing holes and a smokey smell. Apparently everything, all of it was a lie. Joey was never here, and in his place stands someone they all recognise.

About a year ago, several youtubers just disappeared, poof, without a trace. No note, no clues, no ransom; like they all got beamed up and whisked away. Channels are maintained by family or have been memorialised. It was a pretty big deal. Even mainstream media picked up the story. So none of them are expecting to find themselves face to face with Matthew Patrick, missing, presumed dead.

“Mat?” Mark steps closer in disbelief. Probably not a good idea.

Mat launches himself at Mark, black taloned fingers slashing. Mark barely catches his wrists and they both thud to the floor. There’s a sharp stinging on his cheek even before they land. Mat scratched him. Probably best not to let him land another one.

Jack and Thomas rush forward, both grabbing at the twisting and flailing figure still trying to strike at Mark. Within seconds, Mat slashes at Thomas instead, catching him on the back of the hand. The Investigative Journalist cries out and lets go, falling back and landing on his ass.

Jack still has a hold of him and with a loud shout, manages to finally pull him off of Mark, which seemed like such a good idea not five seconds ago. Free from Mark’s hold, Mat turns, viciously slicing Jack across the stomach and kicking him away as Jack clutches at the scratch.

Mat turns to Nate, still on the other side of the room. Fuck.

The facade is completely gone now. Black taloned fingers are on full display, curled at his side as he takes a step forward. Bright green cat-like eyes stare out from beneath his darker brown hair. Such small differences, but enough to make Nate back away.

Suddenly, Mat drops to his knees, crying out in agony. There’s another bolt sticking out his back and Nikita smirking behind him.

The shaking is getting worse. Mat’s run out of time.

He raises an eyebrow at Nate.

“Lucky you.”

With a wide sweep of his arm shadows fly from Mat’s fingers. Nikita and Nate are knocked to the floor as the entire room is engulfed by the darkness. They last about ten seconds before every last one of them passes out.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack is hunched on the edge of the couch, his yellow jacket removed and placed on the seat beside him while his arm is pressed firmly against his stomach. The bleeding stopped a while ago but it hurts a lot. Less of a sharp stab now, more of a throbbing sting. He hisses through clenched teeth.

The Investigative Reporter, Thomas, paces back and forth, his fingers brushing over and over across the scratch on his hand. It’s sore, red, and steadily throbbing. It’s distracting, but not enough to make him forget what just happened.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” he stops his pacing and turns to the others, “but shouldn’t we be dead?”

“Give it ten minutes, Jack probably will be.” To one side of the room Mark is using a hand mirror to check the scratch on his cheek. It’s an inch, maybe an inch and a half at most, also red and throbbing. His words are bitter, filled with anger and maybe a touch of wishful thinking.

“Hey fuck you!” Jack shifts to stand.

“Ignore him,” Nate insists, one hand on the Detective’s shoulder to hold him in place. The last thing they need is these two going at each other again. There’s no mark on Nate, which frankly is a sheer relief that the others will never hear from him.

Mark and Jack continue to glare at each other and Nikita rolls her eyes at the lot of them. She’s stood a short distance away with the Harp of Lazarus in her fingers. She couldn’t risk one of these idiots getting their hands on it. They’d do something stupid like play it.

“You guys need to put aside your bullshit or things will go super fucked.” Nikita doesn’t have time for this, “Do you want to die? Is that it?” She raises the Harp up and with the kind of fury that you _do not fuck with_ , she smashes the Harp over her knee with a satisfying -CRACK-.

The boys erupt into madness, shouting over each other, Nate leaping to his feet. Nikita throws the pieces to the ground and curb stomps them repeatedly.

“STOP?!” Mark screams as he drops to his knees in front of what was once the harp. “We can fix this!” He babbles, picking through the splinters, desperation underlying his crazed mutterings. “The strings are still intact! We can remake it! We just need some wood and-!”

“Don’t count on it.” Jack interrupts, “We don’t know if the magic’s in the strings or the wood.”

“Strings!” Mark turns to Nate, desperate for any glimpse of hope. “It has to be the strings right Nate?” Nate knows music, he’d know, right?! Right?! Nate stammers, not knowing what to say and Mark screams at him.

Nikita looks to the desperate man at her feet. She knows that look. It’s the same one she wore after losing Manny. He lost someone; someone important. She places a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

“The dead are supposed to stay dead.” Her words are firm and leave no room for an argument. Still there’s understanding in them. She knows the appeal of bringing back someone you lost, especially in this place; the difference is, she also knows the cost.

“Says _you_.” The Daredevil’s words are practically a growl that speak of the deep hurt in his chest. Tears pour from his eyes as he stares at the shreds of his chance to bring her back; to save her from this place. She’s gone.

“Says _life_.” Nikita corrects him, “Whoever you wanted to bring back is better off dead.”

“Don’t.” Mark stands, holding a stern finger in Nikita’s face. The others look away but she doesn’t even blink. “ _Don’t_.”

“Go ahead, don’t believe me,” She slaps his hand away, “You saw what it did to Mat.”

“...Mat died?”

There’s a momentary beat of uneasy silence. It was kind of a given, what with Mat having been one of the missing YouTubers, but honestly they hadn’t thought about it; like at all. It was bad enough all the deaths they’d witnessed tonight, but to have to face the knowledge that Mat had…

It’s a lot.

“So, what do we do?” Thomas is the one who asks what they’re all thinking, “Do we keep playing?”

“Honey no,” Nikita turns, shaking her head, “The whole game is a lie to trick you into willingly sacrificing yourselves.”

“But _why_?”

“It’s right there in the name. Ever-lock. This town is a cage designed to hold creatures that could end humanity. The only way to open the cage is with a whole lot of blood.” she gestures to the boys, “ _Your_ blood.”

“Then we don’t play.” Mark turns away, dismissing this whole issue with a wave. He’s had enough of this place, of this night. He just wants to go home, “Problem solved.

“The game _doesn’t matter_. Only the deaths. The blood that’s shed breaks another lock,” Nikita glares at each of them in turn, practically growling, “So _don’t_ die!”

“Like we weren’t trying that already,” Mark snarks.

Nikita scowls. “Be a sour bitch if you want. We’re running out of time.” She turns and strides across the room towards the wall where they’ve been storing the various artefacts.

Jack half-raises a hand, the other still clutched to his stomach, “What do you mean ‘running out of time’?”

“It took a hell of a lot of magic to get me here,” Nikita carefully runs her fingers over the wall, calling over her shoulder, “It won’t last much longer.”

“Then why _are_ you here?”

There’s a click. The wall in front of Nikita wooshes open revealing the treasures within. She smirks as she reaches in. When she steps back, she’s holding a spear taller than she is in one hand, and a longsword in the other. She swings the sword in a circle as she smirks at the boys.

“To prepare you.”

The lights then cut out, plunging them all into darkness. A low, rumbling, chuckling laugh builds around them. It isn’t Mat; too calm, too controlled, too deep. Mark turns around, trying to see where it’s coming from but it’s impossible. It’s a laugh that Mark is _very_ familiar with.

“Fuck.”


End file.
